


I Found

by PrittlePrince



Series: Andromeda [1]
Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: (Muggle) Mark, Animagus Johnny, Harry Potter AU, M/M, PWP, Size Kink, but maybe not?, filthy smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-01
Updated: 2019-10-01
Packaged: 2020-11-08 17:33:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,752
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20839358
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PrittlePrince/pseuds/PrittlePrince
Summary: Mark meets a mysteriously mute man that sometimes appears to be a dog, and learns of magic.A tale of Johnny finding his soul in Mark.





	I Found

**Author's Note:**

  * For [](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts).

> This started as something small but ended up much more exciting, and also really filthy. Eve, I hope you love this. Thank you for being a true friend in this fandom!

Mark is experimenting. He’s quite sure that pesto has the most alluring smell, as his guest visits most often when Mark makes it. But pasta isn’t good for dogs, even without the garlic Mark doesn’t add. At least, not in excess. Just like humans. So there’s got to be a backup. Something with meat. Something that will satisfy. He likes the dog most when it’s relaxing on a full tummy and lets Mark scratch it’s ears by the fireplace.

So tonight he makes a stew with sweet potato and peas, chicken and gravy. Music pours out of his bluetooth speaker and he hums as he moves around the kitchen. It’s late - nearly eight o’clock, but the dog never arrives before seven so Mark has gotten used to pushing back his dinner so they can eat together. 

He serves two bowls and carries them into the living room. One he sets on the coffee table - the other on the window ledge leading out to the fire escape. The long white curtains drift under the light from the streetlamp outside, but no shadow graces the living room.

Mark’s stomach grumbles after about half an hour, and his gaze jumps from his phone to the open window for the hundredth time. The dog is late. There are nights he doesn’t come at all, but he’s never gone more than two days without a visit since the third month Mark had moved in. 

He hungrily eyes his cool bowl of stew before standing with a sigh. He ducks his head out the window and peers into the alleyway below. He’s never actually seen the dog approach. It’s only ever loped in through the open window, silent, with it’s ears pointed upwards, adding an unnecessary bit of height to the already uncomfortably large dog.

“Where are you?” Mark mutters to himself, picking at the paint on the windowsill. At first he sees only an empty alleyway. White light, and the stark grey of the cement. Long dark shadows are casting away from the mouth of the alleyway and Mark spots something unusual beside a garbage container. It shifts, and wetness glints in the barest of light that reaches to the back of the alley.

With his heart seizing in his chest Mark is sprinting through his apartment, grabbing his coat and keys. His feet thump down the stairs and he skips the last few steps, pushing through the back door of the apartment building. The sound of the door slamming back against the brick wall echoes hollow through the alley.

Mark’s eyes scan the area and then he’s dashing forward to the familiar shape on the ground, breath huffing through his nose. The dog looks up at him, eyes wild and dark and glinting through the shadows. While it almost entirely blends into the darkness, it’s muzzle shines with fresh blood. When Mark pushes at the dog’s shuddering lip, he can see blood staining it’s teeth black.

“What happened…” Mark mutters to himself, oddly furious. Worried out of his mind. He runs his hands over the dog’s body, looking for injuries. There are cuts, small ones as though from thorns or rocks. The muzzle has the biggest gash and blood oozes like spit from the dog’s mouth. It’s big eyes are glassy and it leans into Mark’s hand with a whine when Mark runs his thumb over the dog’s brows.

The dog stumbles as it tries to stand so Mark bends down and hefts it’s body over his shoulder and gets three steps before he realizes that the dog is far too heavy. Despite this he trudges on, breathing heavy through his nose as he uses the elevator to go up. There’s blood oozing out over his shoulder and onto the stainless steel of the elevator wall. He winces, knowing he’ll have to come clean this up later.

The dog stares at him with huge, sad eyes as Mark cleans it and tries to assess the damage. It’s always looks at Mark like that but it hurts a little more now knowing the dog is in pain. It barely makes a sound, even when Mark runs the cold water over the cut on its face. The skin shudders and the dog struggles not to bare its teeth and Mark coos at him as he runs his other hand down the dog’s flank to calm it.

The cut is deep, but isn’t wide. Mark cleans it and disinfects and uses a little liquid bandage to keep the cut closed. The dog does whine at that, at the sting. Mark keeps talking him through it, encouraging whispers and mentions of ‘good boy’ as he rubs the dog’s head.

When Mark returns from cleaning the elevator, he finds the dog standing on unsteady legs by the window, gingerly attempting to pick stew out of the bowl to eat.

“Oh, for goodness sake…” Mark mutters, setting down his cleaning supplies and grabbing a spoon from the kitchen.

“Here-” Mark starts, grabbing the bowl from the windowsill and sticking the spoon into the stew. He’s just about to hold some out when something changes in his peripheral, something bigger and darker, a shadow cast across his lap. When Mark looks up, a man is staring back at him, gripping his own face with long fingers where a short, deep cut has re-opened. 

Dark hair, dark eyes narrowed in pain. A threadbare shirt hangs from naked shoulders and long, muscled legs stick out from jeans that are rolled up to dirty calves. 

Suddenly unable to breathe, Mark drops the bowl and falls back onto the rug, hand gripping his chest. The man’s eyes widen as he stares back at Mark, before he looks down to his own chest and back up. His mouth opens on a word, but no sound comes out. Mark’s vision darkens and his breath comes in short gasps. The man raises his hands as though to calm him and Mark feels heavy, the weight of unconsciousness dragging him down. It is quiet, and then dark.

The sound of his phone vibrating on the table causes him to stir. When he cracks his eyes the phone is flat on the coffee table, and he’s gazing at it sideways from his position tucked on the couch. His fireplace crackles merrily and sends a warm glow dashing across his living room floor to land on his face. It’s comforting, but he gasps when he breathes in and finds his throat dry and aching.

“Ugh…” He runs a hand over his face and feels dizzy when he tries to sit up. He’s parched. He cracks his eyes open again to gaze at the fire and the figure is there, sitting by his hearth in the lone old rocking chair. He’s got a blanket draped over his lap, but his legs and bare feet stretch out too long for the small chair. His chin is resting on his shoulder and his eyes are closed under a curtain of dark hair.

Mark holds his breath and pushes away the comforter draped over his body. The hardwood of his apartment is old, but he knows all the creaky spots as he inches forward, reaching for his fire-poker. He winces when the one he picks clangs slightly against another on the hook, but he quietly lifts his poker to his chest and leans towards the stranger, ready to strike.

The apartment is ancient - the windows run nearly floor to ceiling and shake in the winter, and the hardwood floor is weathered oak that warps and splits in the oddest places. Mark remembers he’s considered calling the building manager about it, asking to go halfsies on the cost to replace it all because he never really imagines himself living anywhere else. He curses that he’s procrastinated because the floor beneath him groans as he steps closer, and suddenly those eyes are on him, dark and glassy and sad like usual and Mark raises the fire poker in front of him with an intake of breath.

“You had better explain yourself…” Mark hisses in the dark, feeling the situation hurtle towards hysterical as the man only shifts uneasily in his seat, eyeing with vague interest the end of the poker aimed at his chest. He stretches, and Mark stares bemused as his toes stretch and settle and the man touches the side of his own face with a pained look. Mark’s eyebrows rise.

“I didn’t do that.” Mark feels compelled to say. The man nods ever-so-slightly at him and drops his large hand into his lap. He watches Mark watch him until the fire poker lowers and Mark sets it against the brick of the fireplace, heart slowly finding a more natural rhythm in his chest.

“Who are you?” Mark starts, staring down at the man incredulously. The man only stares back and faces his palms up, as if to take Mark’s hands. Mark folds his arms to his chest instead and the man glances to the side, despondent.

“Oh my god.” Mark whispers, furious and confused.

“Are you - hey man, did I see you turn from a _dog_ into a fucking _human_ because I don’t think I can accept that.” Mark starts pacing the rug, teeth running over the flesh of one thumb as he stares at the floor. His eyes dart up to the man and back.

“The dog was there, and it was the same dog - the _same_ as always. And then you were there, and it wasn’t possible that you were just _there_...” Mark feels the mania start to rise again and suddenly he’s gripped tight by the wrist and pulled back into strong arms.

His heart jumps into his throat.

Cold goosebumps spring up over his skin as the man holds him to his chest, suddenly standing tall and immoveable in the middle of the living room. He’s silent and his grip loosens but Mark stares at the opposite wall, unwilling to make a move, to bolt. A little push and Mark is guided forward, towards the kitchen. The man moves with a hand on Mark’s lower back and Mark swears he’s not breathing when the man urges him onto one of the stools at the kitchen island and gestures to a bowl of stew on the countertop. Mark’s own bowl he hadn’t managed to drop earlier.

The man sits opposite him and raises his eyebrows and Mark pulls the bowl forward. He feels a little too nauseated to eat but he pokes at the food with the spoon. His body still can’t decide if he’s about to be murdered or not.

“You can’t answer?” Mark eventually asks, sneaking glances at the man in front of him. The other shakes his head a little and Mark glances along the countertop to his notebook. He pulls it forward and opens it to a blank page, dropping a pen on the paper and pushing it towards the man.

Chewing his lip, the man writes his name on the paper: _Johnny_.

“Hmm…” Mark bites his lip and chews on a mouthful of stew.

“I’m Mark.” Its impolite not to shake hands but Mark still feels a bit like he’s living through a break and enter, so he grips his spoon. The man offers him a mild smile.

“Are you a dog? _The_ dog?” Mark taps his spoon against the bowl unconsciously and Johnny’s brows furrow. Mark battles down that hysterical feeling. Is he really sitting in his kitchen in the middle of the night eating cold stew with some kind of… supernatural dog-man? A large black Great Dane with huge, upright ears and a sleek charcoal coat that has been visiting him most nights out of any given week for well over two months?

Johnny grips his wrist again and Mark stops tapping.

“Sorry.” 

Johnny nods and pulls his hand back. He stands and shakes something out of his sleeve- a long, slender black stick polished and shiny in the half-light. Mark is tense but watches with interest as Johnny raises what Mark now realizes is a wand between them and gives it a little flick. 

A _wand_. Mark’s mind goes blank.

Gold pours from the tip of the wand like little lights and Johnny uses it to draw in mid-air. A man, and then a dog. Mark stares at him and frowning, Johnny waves his wand through the picture of the canine. It disappears like a fog.

He raises his free hand to his face and touches the wound there. The liquid bandaid barely holds on, and Mark can see that he’s in pain. 

Johnny raises his want and flicks his wrist as he points the wand up at his face. He winces through a pained expression, but the wound closes and Mark feels like he might faint again.

“That’s… magic?” Mark is dumbfounded when Johnny simply nods at him.

“Holy fuck.” Mark breathes. Johnny laughs, actually laughs, and it’s a rich, dark rumble. His voice sounds unused and Mark openly peers at him, struggling to rectify it all.

Johnny steps back from the kitchen and raises his wand again. He runs it over his body and his clothes transform, fabric snaking and twisting around his torso until he’s wearing a smart-looking woolen jacket and a pair of black trousers. He looks much larger like this. Filled-out as he runs a hand through his hair, pushing it back from his face. Mark remembers to close his mouth.

Johnny pulls a pocket watch from his jacket and gives it a brief glance. His eyebrows raise and he turns to regard Mark, who is at a complete loss for words. He raises two fingers to his temple and gives them a single wave before the air around him seems to shift and change and then he’s gone, as though twisted and sucked up into the air itself.

Mark hiccups on a laugh and then claps his hands over his mouth, eyes wide. 

“What the fuck-“ he mutters between his fingers before running them back through his hair.

-

Two uneventful days later, the dog returns. Mark has spent the last forty eight hours on high alert. His window remains locked. He goes to work as usual and triple checks every window before he leaves. When he returns he stands in his foyer for thirty seconds listening for the tell-tale signs of another presence in his apartment.

On the third night, it’s the smell of the outdoors he notices first, cool and green from the recent rain. There’s a light on in his living room and when he peeks his head in, the large black dog is curled up on a pillow by the window. The wind catches the curtains and the dog looks up at him from its paws, eyes big and soft.

“Can I make normal food now? Since, you know… you can eat like a person?” Mark sets his bag down on the couch and the dog stands and stretches, jaw snapping on a yawn. And then it’s striding over, twisting in the air as Johnny takes its place. The smile on his face is gentle, as always. Mark stiffens but allows himself to be pulled into a hug and manages to breath through it, still in shock.

It’s not an easy thing to swallow, what he’s seen. He does his best, nodding short and firm when Johnny steps back.

“I’ll go…” Mark gestures to the kitchen and then turns on his heel, eager to get out of this situation.

It’s early, so he goes to take a shower as he usually does. There’s an added level of anxiety to his normal routine simply by being aware that someone else, a stranger, is in his house as he stands nude in his bathroom. _Stupid_, Mark berates himself. _You’re going to get yourself murdered_.

Still, when he returns with a towel around his shoulders in a pair of sweatpants and a sweater, Johnny is lounging on his couch, thumbing through what appeared to be a newspaper. Watching quietly from the doorway, Mark stares at the paper, mouth agape. Advertisements shake and zoom across the newsprint, and the headline has a photo of a well-dressed woman eyeing him from under her lashes. She blows him a kiss and Mark starts, stumbling back into the wall before rushing towards the kitchen, muttering under his breath.

When he dares to glance up, Johnny’s gaze is upon him, soft and interested over to top of the newspaper.

The rain always makes him crave comfort food, so he hand-makes some meatballs with the ground beef thawed in the fridge. He empties a couple packages of dry onion soup mix into the bowl, cracks a couple eggs in and shakes in a half-cup of dry oatmeal. He mixes with his hands and forms them into little balls. It isn’t until he’d setting them each into a shallow pan of bubbling pasta sauce that he dares to approach the living room again.

He’s wiping his hands on a towel as he hovers by the couch. Johnny folds the newspaper in his lap and looks up at him, head tilted. His eyes glow a warm brown in the firelight and Mark chews on his lip, not sure what to say.

“There’s so much I want to ask you, but I’m not even sure what I want to know.” He throws the towel over one shoulder and sits on the arm of the couch, legs folded. Johnny’s body is turned to him, and he manages to fold his impressively long legs as well, mirroring Mark’s posture.

“There’s probably… too much for me to understand, really. There’s a whole other world out there…” Mark becomes aware of himself talking, maybe too much. It’s hard to tell when there’s no response. Just his own voice floating in the silence.

Johnny hums, fingering the newspaper in thought.

“But I guess the more pressing question is, why do you come here?” Mark stares, needing an answer to this if nothing else.

Johnny’s brows pinch slightly, and he looks up at Mark with a slight frown.

“Don’t misunderstand… I’ve always liked your visits, but…” Mark laughs, hands making a vague wave in the air between them. “...this is a bit of an adjustment.”

Johnny laughs too, a gentle chuckle. He nods, and his wand appears in his hand.

Mark doesn’t feel the same anxiety he did last time when Johnny raises the wand between them. The same gold sparkles appear in the air, reflecting in the light of the fire. Johnny lifts his wand and the gold falls into Mark’s open palm. It’s tingles and spreads warm, glowing. 

Mark doesn’t quite understand and his mind is just starting to wonder at the pleasant warmth that starts to settle in his chest when a timer goes off in the kitchen. He rises with a thoughtful expression.

Johnny follows him and stands by the kitchen island, tall but with an unguarded posture. He watches, silent as ever, as Mark builds two bowls of pasta. He drops an extra couple of meatballs into Johnny’s bowl and slides it over, unable to meet his eyes. Johnny grins, pleased, and grasps Mark’s fingers before he can pull away.

“Wha-” Mark starts and his eyes rise to meet Johnny’s. The taller looks at him with a half-smile and bows his head, grateful. He drops Mark’s hand and shimmies onto a stool at the counter. Shaking his head, Mark goes back to his own bowl.

As he pulls up his own stool, Mark is desperate to fill the silence. He pokes at his spaghetti and twines a large mouthful around his fork. The steam rises and Mark is peripherally aware of Johnny scenting the air. It does, Mark proudly notes, smell delicious.

He doesn’t quite realize it’s too hot before it's too late. He opens his mouth and sucks in air as he tries to swallow his food, and Johnny lowers his fork, watching him with concern over the kitchen island. Mark squeezes his eyes shut and swallows his mouthful of molten pasta sauce.

“Ahh- shit.” Mark stands to grab a glass of cold water from the sink and sucks it back in big gulps. Embarrassed, he breathlessly laughs. The roof of his mouth throbs, scalded. He turns when the sound of a wooden stool on the tile draws his attention, and Johnny approaches him from around the counter, concern evident on his face.

“I’m fine, I’m fine-” Mark tries to wave him off, even as tears prickle at the corners of his eyes. Johnny grasps his face in his two large hands and Mark stills, back pressed against the countertop.

“I’m fine.” He says again, quieter as Johnny stares down at him. He presses his tongue to the roof of his mouth and the pain zips through him. His eyes water further, and he shuts them to try and blink away the tears. _Stupid_.

One hand drops from his face and Mark opens his eyes. His eyelashes stick together and he laughs again, feeling foolish and absurd standing in his kitchen with a tall stranger who won’t stop touching him. Mark knows he could back away, slip out between Johnny and the counter and put some space between them. He could explain, politely, that most strangers don’t touch each other as much as Johnny touches him. 

But Johnny isn’t quite a stranger, not really. Like this, he is. Mark is still getting used to the size of him, shape of him in his own modest apartment. He’s used to a gangly black dog, with silent eyes devoid of judgment. Johnny, as he is now, is much more of a presence but he is as gentle as ever. Thoughtful, how he holds Mark’s face in his hand.

Johnny’s other hand re-appears with his wand and Mark feels his reaction physically.

“No.. _no way_.” He blinks away some of the tears again and his eyes start to dry. His mouth still throbs and he painfully swallows. Johnny tilts his head at him, expression considering.

He thumbs at Mark’s jaw, urging him to open his mouth.

“I don’t even know where that’s been!” Mark complains and Johnny chuckles. Mark’s body relaxes at the sound, and he rolls his eyes.

“I can’t believe I’m letting you do this.” And he parts his lips and lets his jaw hang. His gaze lands somewhere over Johnny’s shoulder and he feels a bit like he’s at the dentist. Johnny delicately places the tip of his wand just inside Mark’s mouth.

The sensation is like a brief tingling, a fizz. Mark hysterically thinks of the picture he makes, watching himself as though outside of his body. 

Johnny makes it brief, and drops his hand. He pockets his wand and Mark swallows. His throat is devoid of any pain, but there is a strange tingle that lingers over his lips. He raises an eyebrow and Johnny grins at him, questioning.

“Yes… yeah, you did it.” Mark laughs and Johnny pokes him in the side, eager to hear more of his laughs. Mark concedes and pushes at him a bit to create some space between them. He feels light.

“Thank you…” he offers softly as he waves Johnny back to his seat. “Eat.”

Later, Johnny leaves when Mark starts to yawn and when he’s gone Mark misses him, a little.

-

It goes on like this, much the same, for weeks. There are days when Johnny doesn’t visit, and Mark falls asleep on the couch, trying not to wait for him. There are days when Mark gets home and Johnny is already there. A couple times, Mark comes home and Johnny has lain out food on the counter for them, take-out from wherever he travels from. 

Mark tries strange candies and treats that make steam rise from his ears and nose and the look on Johnny’s face when Mark laughs is bliss. Mark learns only a little about this otherworld he isn’t a part of. There are mysteries and marvels that Johnny assures Mark exist in the muggle world as well, only hidden. _Muggle_ or _no-maj_, Mark learns, are his folk, non-magical folk.

_You have your own magic_, Johnny writes one day, tracing his fingertip in Mark’s palm. His smile, understanding, fills something in Mark’s chest.

Every so often Johnny arrives with a weariness to him that prickles Mark’s worry. Tears at his clothes, singe marks across his hands. Johnny will heal any minor cuts and scrapes before Mark’s very eyes and chuckle when Mark prods at him with concern.

_All part of the job, I’m afraid,_ Johnny had assured. Mark never understood what job, exactly, led to those types of cuts and bruises. But if Johnny wasn’t worried, then Mark was at ease as well.

What starts as a nagging feeling at the back of Mark’s mind blossoms into something heavy and warm. Johnny always greets him much the same: an enveloping hug that Mark resists less and less. Johnny’s arms fit around him easily and his chin fits snuggly on Mark’s shoulder. On especially tiring days Mark allows Johnny to hold him a little longer, a little tighter.

On one frigid November day Mark is doing the dishes when he feels Johnny arrive, the smell of the outdoors cold and bright as the breeze rustles Mark’s hair.

“I'm here!” Mark calls over his shoulder, and continues to rinse soap from the plate he’s washing. Johnny’s presence casts a shadow across the kitchen and long arms wind around Mark’s waist to pull him close. Johnny’s chin lands on Mark’s shoulder and he huffs a tired breath.

“You’re heavy!” Mark complains, but he places his soapy hands over Johnny’s and squeezes back. He’s gotten so used to Johnny’s physical affection that he naturally responds, seeking him out.

“You smell like soot…” Mark continues as he idly begins rinsing dishes again. He moves slowly, unwilling to dislodge the man from his shoulders. Johnny huffs again, a small laugh that raises goosebumps on Mark’s skin and turns his nose against Mark’s throat, breathing him in.

“Hey-” Mark chuckles, reflexively shivering. “-that tickles!”

Johnny’s palm running hot and slow over Mark’s stomach changes something in the air and Mark’s awareness shifts to the weight of Johnny pressed against him, to Johnny’s nose running behind his ear. A tightness starts in his stomach and he sucks in a breath. He places a hand over Johnny’s, stilling its movement.

He turns in Johnny’s arms, and Johnny’s gaze when he meets it is like liquid honey. Large hands rise to cup his face and Mark remembers that night when he burnt his tongue. He wonders how often he’s dreamt lately of Johnny’s touch soothing the burn instead. Of a tongue running over his lip in search of his own, prying his lips as Johnny tastes him…

Mark’s tears his gaze away from Johnny’s mouth and reddens in embarrassment when Johnny’s eyes find his own. They’re both tired tonight. And Mark finds it easier than ever to allow himself to be pulled in.

Johnny’s gaze asks a question and Mark stares back, unsure how to communicate his own questions, his wants.

So Johnny moves with a slow purpose, thumb running under his bottom lip as his eyes dance over Mark’s face. He pulls at the skin, and Mark parts his lips. Johnny stares then, at his mouth, and back up as he leans in. Mark feels like he can’t breath as he watches the distance close between them, at the way Johnny tongue dips out to wet his lips as he urges Mark closer.

Despite appearances, Mark isn’t an impatient person. He can go long stretches of time happy to figure things out on his own, to be curious and investigate and observe. He talks and talks and sometimes eventually talks himself to whatever realization he’s looking for, but he gets there eventually.

There’s something about the way his stomach cruely tightens in response to Johnny’s touch that has him abandoning all self-restraint. His fingers curl around the belt at Johnny’s waist and he’s pulling them flush, leaning up to capture Johnny’s bottom lip between his own. 

He pulls in a breath through his nose and Johnny widens his stance, fingers tipping Mark’s jaw upwards so he can pull back and look into his eyes. It’s unreal, the way Mark feels rooted to the spot when Johnny runs his thumb over his lip once more and leans in to trace the touch with his tongue. 

Mark groans softly and Johnny covers the sound. He kisses Mark with devotion, deep and slow. A wounded sound escapes him and Mark tightens his fingers in the folds of Johnny’s coat.

“Ohhh…” Mark whispers when Johnny moves to tasting the skin of his throat, hands dropping to explore Mark’s hips over the ties of the apron. “I don’t know - I don’t…”

Hesitant, Johnny pulls back at that. Mark hates how hard it is to think, how breathless he is, leaned back over the sink. Johnny’s lips are slick and red and Mark craves them, still. But a thought plagues him.

He despises the look on Johnny’s face so he grabs his hand, bringing their twined fingers to his lips.

“I want to.” He breathes, kissing Johnny’s knuckles. The man’s gaze dances over his expression, and he nods.

“But I want to know how I fit in your world… I feel like- I feel…” Mark scrunches up his nose, struggling to explain. Johnny pushes Mark’s hair back from his temple, encouraging him with another nod.

“I hate the idea that one day I might come home, and wait and wait and you won’t return.” There’s a tremor in his voice he doesn’t love. It doesn’t seem like so long ago when Johnny was a somewhat unwelcome stranger. Mark doesn’t know when the man moved from being his uncomplicated canine houseguest to the human who took up space on his couch. To the man who brought him scallops and wine and bread on chilly nights.

“I hate when you leave. I hate that there is so much I don’t understand.”

Johnny takes his hands in his own and guides Mark out of the kitchen. He sits and pulls Mark down with him, thigh to thigh on the couch. He opens Mark’s palm and presses his finger there.

_You have your own magic._ He looks up at Mark, imploring.

“You said that already…” Mark murmurs, confused. 

Johnny pulls out his wand and this time, he turns it and passes it to Mark. He holds Mark’s gaze, offering it out on his open palm. 

Mark doesn’t think too hard. Curious, he plucks the wand from Johnny’s hand and grips it in his own.

The feeling is almost indescribable. If he could, Mark might equate it to the first sip of coffee in the morning. Or the feeling when your feet are too hot under the blanket and you stretch one over the cool cotton at the end of your bed. The first step under the hot spray of the shower as the tiredness eases from your muscles.

The wand seems to vibrate in his hand and there’s a full weight in his chest, like he’s just drunk a gloriously spiked hot cocoa.

“Johnny…?” Mark raises his eyes and Johnny is smiling at him, a wistful look on his face. His eyes crinkle as he covers Mark’s hand with his own and Mark feels the warmth in his chest spread out over his body. He closes his eyes, and Johnny pulls him close to press a kiss to his temple.

“I feel it.” Mark whispers, and Johnny’s answering hum reverberates across his skin.

“And… I want you to move in.” He continues suddenly, voice wavering. 

Johnny pulls back to look at him, eyebrows high. Mark knows his own expression is a little panicked. He laughs, unsure how he got here.

“Will you do that? Will you move in?” He presses the wand back into Johnny’s hand, but the warmth barely fades. 

Johnny’s own expression shifts, and he’s laughing, rich and warm. Tears gather at his eyes and it’s almost childish the way he gathers Mark to his chest and kisses at his cheeks. Mark laughs too, pawing at his chest and allowing himself to be pulled into Johnny’s lap.

“Thats a yes, then?” Mark squirms in Johnny’s lap until he can look into his face, wiping at the tears on his cheeks.

“Why are you crying?”

Johnny grips both hands between his own and kisses them. Mark understands.

“Will you show me? Your world? Your magic? ”

Johnny nods and kisses his hands again, eyes drying.

“Then kiss me again. I won’t stop you this time.” Mark’s voice is a whisper.

Johnny seems to breathe easier now, and his eyes are clear when he pulls Mark a bit closer with a hand under his thigh. He brings their foreheads together and Mark feels the pang of emotion that sits in Johnny’s chest. It thrums with the magical energy in his own.

Johnny’s hands roam purposeful and slow, gliding under the tie of Mark’s apron to settle on his waist. Gently he maneuvers Mark’s thighs to either side of his own, and reaches up to kiss Mark with a small hum. Each kiss is like a question, and Mark responds with sighs of his own when Johnny’s fingers find the bare skin of his waist. His hands continue to push up Mark’s shirt as he pries Mark’s lips with his own, tongue dipping in to find Mark’s and taste him.

Mark laughs when Johnny fumbles with the knot in his apron but his laughter dies on a groan when Johnny’s lips find the juncture of his neck. 

“God... can you get out of this, jeez…” And Mark isn’t much help, arms in the way as he pushes at the lapels of Johnny’s coat. Finally Johnny has enough, and he tips Mark onto his back on the couch, shrugging out of his coat. He slips Mark’s apron over his head and flings both somewhere out of eyesight. His fingers rake over Mark’s thighs, easing them apart before he’d covering Mark’s body with his own, a heavy weight.

Mark groans, rising to the teasing touches as Johnny palms his way under Mark’s shirt.

“God, you feel good.” Mark murmurs and Johnny hums in response, pushing Mark’s shirt to his chest and laving at an exposed nipple with his tongue.

“Ah- fuck-” Mark bucks off the couch and Johnny slips a hand behind his back, holding Mark close as he rocks down. He switches his attention to the other side of Mark’s chest and Mark shudders, shaking in his grasp. Without Johnny’s coat there’s little between them and the heat from Johnny’s chest spreads over Mark’s body. 

Mark grasps at him, searching for Johnny’s lips. He feels like he’s floating. Johnny’s lips move slick against his own and each touch of a wide palm over his hip twists arousal tighter in his gut. He can feel Johnny against him, hard through his slacks. Anxious goosebumps rise on his arms.

“If you don’t want this to get quite uncomfortable, I recommend bringing me to bed…” His voice is a whisper as he murmurs against Johnny’s lips.

Johnny noses at his cheek, breath slowing and then he’s easing back off of Mark. His eyes glimmer in the firelight, like honey and that spicy whisky Mark has tasted one night.

Gripping Johnny’s fingers in his own, Mark walks backwards through the apartment, dodging kisses with a chuckle as he tries to navigate in the near-dark. He bumps into the wall in the hallway and Johnny presses him to it, lips capturing his own in a searing kiss that make Mark’s knees feel like jelly.

Somehow Mark gets them into the bedroom, and Johnny gets one brief look before Mark is stripping off his shirt and drawing his attention back. He sits on the bed and pulls at Johnny’s belt again, tugging him between Mark’s open legs until he’s close enough for Mark to unbuckle the clasp and pull the leather strap out through it’s loops. It falls heavy on the ground and Mark tugs at the shirt tucked into Johnny’s slacks.

“Let me taste you?” Mark pleads, because there’s an energy thrumming under his skin that he can’t settle. Johnny seems to understand. He threads his fingers through Mark’s dark hair and starts unbuttoning his shirt with the other and Mark slips off the bed and to his knees. His hands slide up Johnny’s thighs and the look Johnny levels at him is almost animal. Dark pools in the half-light, a thoughtful expression and full lips. 

Mark marvels at how much he wants him. Johnny’s subtle shift in features, the gentle arch of his brow. Johnny’s thumb running along Mark’s jaw as he opens his mouth. Mark mirrors him and those eyes are darker still as Mark sucks Johnny’s thumb between his lips.

His cock jumps under Mark’s palm spreading over the front of his wool slacks. He makes quick work of the buttons, gaze soft and trained upwards. Johnny makes a noise somewhere at the back of his throat when Mark blinks up at him, warm fingers delving under the waistband of his underwear and circling him.

“Move in with me…” Mark murmurs, burying his nose into the skin of Johnny’s hip as he pulls him free of his pants. “Come home to me every night.”

Mark slowly pumps his wrist and Johnny gasps, thickening in Mark’s fingers as Mark presses wet kisses at the base of his cock. His scalp tingles where Johnny brushes his fingertips through his hair, occasionally gripping before sliding down to the back of Mark’s neck.

Johnny is thick in his hand and the taste of him is heady over Mark’s tongue. He can’t manage much, but he uses both hands to stroke Johnny from root to base and sucks at the head, tongue dipping beneath his frenulum to encourage more precome to seep across his tongue. 

Normally silent, Johnny is noisy. Mark makes messy sounds, tonguing the underside of Johnny’s cock and Johnny moans, open-mouthed and panting as he rocks shallowly into Mark’s mouth.

Mark’s jaw is sore when Johnny pulls him away, and he’s pliant as he’s lifted onto the bed. Johnny’s marks him everywhere he can reach with lips and teeth and Mark is so hard his cock thuds loudly against his stomach when Johnny tugs down his jeans and underwear together.

Johnny doesn’t waste time- pressing him into the covers and covering his body with his own. Mark stares, entranced by the way his dark hair falls just past his eyes as he looks up at Mark. Johnny runs his lips across his belly button and down, pushing one of Mark’s thighs to the side so he can kiss at the juncture of his hips.

Mark moans, fingers pushing into Johnny’s hair as his thighs fall limp and creamy over Johnny’s shoulders. Johnny swallows him down like it’s nothing and Mark keens. Tongue running sinful over his cock, Johnny’s hands wander, cupping his balls and wandering further back. Johnny isn’t shy and Mark gasps, writhing when a wide thumb brushes dry over his opening.

“Fuck, yes- “ Mark hisses, hips rising as Johnny sucks harder before pulling off entirely. Mark’s cock glistens with saliva and Johnny’s hum is throaty as he pushes Mark’s thighs to his chest.

Pleasure coils and twists inside Mark as Johnny laps at his hole, the muscle of his tongue prodding at Mark’s opening even as Mark gasps and twists. It takes so little energy for Johnny to hold him down and Mark marvels at just how much bigger Johnny is, one wide hand spread the expanse of Mark’s thigh. 

Mark is sweating by the time Johnny is circling his hole with his thumb, aching and leaking across his own stomach.

“You’re going to have to go a bit faster than that, I’m afraid…” Mark chides, fingers tucking Johnny’s hair fruitlessly behind one ear. Johnny stares up at him and replaces his thumb with two fingers. Mark feels slick heat at his entrance and they push in, blunt and thick. He drops back to the bed with a huff.

“Ohhhhmm,” he groans, eyes squeezed shut against the intrusion. “Where did the lube come from?” 

He feels a chuckle against his thigh and then Johnny is scissoring his fingers and pulling them back out, starting a steady rhythm that Mark struggles to keep up with. When he dares to glance up, Johnny is watching him closely. The other man tilts his head and Mark swallows.

“I’m okay- keep going. I told you not to stop, right?” And Johnny does as he’s told, gently introducing a third finger as Mark shivers and spreads his legs wider. 

Voice hushed, Johnny hums in response to each of Mark’s gasps, his fingers twisting and searching as he takes Mark into his mouth once again. He seems to enjoy the taste because he sucks with a fervour, tongue running along Mark’s slit as he rises up onto his knees to better bend over Mark’s body.

The imagine of Johnny before him, thighs thick and spreading Mark’s legs, his hair falling lank across Mark’s stomach as the muscles in his arm jump. Mark screws his eyes shut, unable to watch. He grips down on Johnny’s fingers and receives an answering groan.

“Now- I can do it. Come up here.” And Johnny does, licking into Mark’s mouth as he frees his fingers and stretches over him. It’s messy, their kiss, and Mark reaches up with a knee over Johnny’s shoulder to keep kissing him even as Johnny rises to his knees.

The head of Johnny's cock pushes thick at his opening and even with the excessive, seemingly self-producing lube, Mark whines.

“Kiss me through it-“ Mark demands, twining his fingers in Johnny’s hair and Johnny bends down to meet him. They groan together as Johnny edges forward and Mark struggles to breathe as he accommodates Johnny’s size. Johnny’s hands are tender, sliding over his thighs, through his hair, behind his back to hold him as Johnny rocks deeper.

It seems an impossible fit, even as Johnny bottoms out. He’s shivering and shaking, the likes of which Mark hasn’t seen since that fateful night when he found Johnny at his worst. He curls himself over Mark, kissing him slowly and deeply as they both struggle to adjust.

“I…” Mark catches himself. Is it unusual for his heart to pick this exact moment to fill to the brim, warmth and emotion seeping into every pore as Johnny catches his breath against his lips. “I always missed you when you were gone. I didn't know how to ask you… how our lives could be one.”

He shifts and Johnny slides ever deeper and they both groan. Johnny watches him with a fretful look on his face, fingers anxiously pushing back the hair at Mark’s temples. 

There’s so much behind his eyes Mark knows he longs to say. He opts for bringing Mark’s fingers to his lips and kissing each one. He pulls the hand to his chest and sits up. His skin gleams in the half-light, golden and warm and Mark stares at the way the muscles of his abdomen shift as he pulls back before rocking forward again. 

Head dropping back into the sheets, Mark sucks in a breath, fighting the ache in his hips and the dizzying pleasure rising somewhere right behind his bellybutton. 

Johnny drops his hands to circle Mark’s waist, thumbs dipping into the V of his hips as he pulls Mark back against him with each measured thrust. Delirious, Mark feels him impossibly deep, dragging over his prostate with each press of their hips together.

It goes this way, slow and steady for about as long as it takes for Mark to open up before he’s making grabbing hands at Johnny’s ass, stretching his thighs.

“Let me on top, roll over…” he urges. And Johnny allows himself to be pushed back into the pillows, hands immediately finding Mark’s waist as the smaller man clamours into his lap. Mark sinks down on him almost immediately and it’s Johnny whose voice cracks. He sets his feet on the bed and rocks up for each time Mark drops down on him and they both groan at the new pace. 

Mark’s cock rocks against Johnny’s stomach, smearing slick along the fine trail of hairs from his bellybutton. 

“I won’t last-“ Mark chokes, squeezing his eyes shut as Johnny grips his waist and brings him back down to meet each thrust. Mark’s body opens for him and his cock drools between them until Johnny takes it in his hand and starts jerking him off with hurried flicks of his wrist.

Johnny, when he comes, makes a guttural sound. It grows from somewhere deep inside, helpless and pained and his cock thickens and throbs in Mark’s body. The sound alone pulls the beginning of Mark’s orgasm from him. The helpless look in Johnny’s dark eyes finishes him and Mark is releasing hot and slick over Johnny’s fingers.

“Ah-a _Johnny_!” Johnny’s cock , still firm, slides slick inside of him, rocking Mark through the last pulses as he trembles in Johnny’s lap.

Mark has never felt so messy in his life. His thighs ache with exertion as Johnny helps him lie on his side on the bed. He complains when Johnny fingers at his puffy hole, but it’s just curiosity and then Johnny is drawing his palm over his body and startled, Mark realizes he’s clean. Mostly. An unpleasant feeling sticks to his skin that he can’t describe.

“Not sure how good that one is. I think we still need a bath.” Mark murmurs against Johnny’s neck and Johnny chuckles in agreement.

“Maybe you can teach me a better one, when the time is right.” He feels exhausted, and filled with fondness. Johnny hugs him closer with an arm wrapped around his shoulders.

“Promise me you’ll move in. And that you’ll take me wand shopping.” Mark presses his cold nose behind Johnny’s ear and Johnny hums, tickling over his side before twining their pinkies together. He sits up on one elbow and stares down at Mark, expression soft and wanting. With a hand wrapped under Mark’s jaw, he kisses his cheek, and then to the left of his mouth, and finally his lips. It’s chaste, lovely.

“Me too,” Mark says, grinning against his mouth.

**Author's Note:**

> [cc](https://curiouscat.me/prittleceebs)   
[twt](https://twitter.com/prittleceebs)


End file.
